Grace felt the calm soothing, for her thoughts were not a little disturbed.  She had met Thorn in the afternoon and noted a puzzling change in his manner.  So far, she had been able to check his cautious advances, but she now remarked a new confidence that seemed to indicate he had some power in reserve.  She admitted that she might have imagined this, but it troubled her.

Afterwards she had met Kit and the comfort the meeting gave her had forced her to think.  Their friendship had gone far; in fact, it had reached a point friendship could not pass.  Kit was not yet her lover, but she thought he waited for a sign that she would acknowledge him when he made his claim.  She liked Kit; she had not met a man she liked so much.  This, however, did not imply that she was willing to marry him.  Although she now and then rebelled against conventions, she had inherited some of Osborn’s prejudices, and her mother sprang from old-fashioned land-owning stock.  Kit belonged to another class; the life he led was different.  She had been taught to enjoy cultivated idleness, broken by outdoor sports and social amusements; but Kit was a worker, farming for money and resolved to make his efforts pay.  His wife must help and Grace did not know if this daunted her or not.

Moreover, if she married Kit, she must quarrel with her parents.  She knew what Osborn thought about him.  Had she been sure she loved Kit, the choice would have been easier, but although she blushed as she mused, this was too much to own.  Yet he loved her, and after all—­

She let the matter go and looked up, for there were steps in the shadowy road.  Then a figure came into the fading light, and she started and ran to the gate.

“Gerald!” she exclaimed.  “Why have you come home?”

“Somehow you don’t feel flattered when people ask you why you came,” Gerald rejoined with a forced smile.  “It rather indicates surprise than satisfaction.”

“I am surprised,” Grace admitted, trying to hide her vague alarm.  “We did not expect you.  How did you getaway?”

“I took a week’s leave.  I haven’t been very fit.”

Grace gave him a sharp glance and thought he looked ill.  His face was pinched, his eyes were furtive, and his mouth was slack.

“What has been the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing very much,” Gerald replied.  “Mental strain, I expect.  Managing a bank is a big job and I’m not used to responsibility.”

It looked as if his carelessness cost him an effort and Grace said nothing.  When they reached the house Gerald resumed:  “You’ll hear all about it later.  Is the chief at home?”

Grace nodded.  They had seldom called Osborn father, but chief and head of the clan, and she thought it significant that Gerald used the name he often falteringly employed after boyish escapades.  She began to feel that there was something wrong.

“He’s in the library,” she said.